A Souvenir from the Tulip Field
by Elverine
Summary: Scene from Spider-man: far from home. Began shortly after he landed on the train (which provided all the whump! we need,) and then quickly moved to the part when he ended up in the Netherlands. Peter was not only treated with the hospitality by the locals with the phone borrowing thingy, but was also treated with a piece of brownie (wink)
1. Chapter 1

He had no idea what the train was or where it was going, all he knew was that he was about to lose it in any second. He stumbled into the closest seat he fell upon, panted, and grabbed his mask off. He was too tired to detect any possible coming danger, or whether it was yet another illusion set up by Mysterio. He felt like crying, he missed Tony, he wanted to be with MJ; he had all the things in his head but now he only felt like giving up. Part of his consciousness was fighting to stay awake and stand up once more, and yet as waves of physical pain rushed over his body followed by a few dry coughs, he let go of his senses.

He later on jerked awake to his own snoring, followed by a splitting headache. He pulled himself up from whatever he was leaning on, and was instantly confused to find himself in a sitting position along with 3 other men in bright orange in the same room.

"Hey," beamed one of the men. "Said you passed out on the railway; it's quite dangerous kid!"

Peter was still puzzled as he quickly looked around the room— or more precisely— a cell. He seemed to be in a prison, as later confirmed by one of the men. The others seemed unreasonably cheerful, if they were in prison; they had paintings on their faces, which appeared to be the flag of—

"Where am I?" he asked. "You guys all speak perfect English."

"Welcome to Netherlands!" the three men joined in response, cheerful as before.

"I'm in Netherlands? Okay…" he had no time to lose, he needed to get himself out of here. He quickly stood up, limping on his not-as-injured leg and broke the lock. He glimpsed over the man in charge of the cells, who must have been the person the other men talked about, and was possibly on phone with his wife.

He pulled the oversize orange shirt offered by the man whom he was leaning on as he approached to an area that appeared to a market place. The sight was all too pleasant, so peaceful; not only the weather was agreeable, but the vendors who selling veggies or whatever organic by the wooden little trolley, the ground, the houses there— they were all too fantastical as compared to Peter's situation now— he decided. He felt like his existence was like a stain that ruined a harmonious pastural painting.

"Hi um, can I borrow your phone?" he randomly approached to an old gentlemen, who was, _well, selling veggies_.

"Sure," to Peter's surprise, the man did not question any further and handed him over his flip phone that he was fiddling with.

"Oh my God, people here are so nice…" he muttered to himself, not a compliment meant to be registered by the local people, but he genuinely reflected upon how people back in the Queens would have reacted towards such request.

He was not sure what to do when he received the flip phone in his hand. Whom was he to call? Do people nowadays even remember any set of number aside from emergencies? _Emergencies, that it,_ he thought, for back in the previous semester in school when he was bored to hell and texted Happy on an hourly basis, and how he had always be clicking open the message box to check for reply, he did unintentionally memorize Happy's number by heart…

"Please pick up, pick up…"again, another round of frantic whispering as soon as he dialed the number, and thank God Happy was not the one who dodged phone calls. He put the speaker to the phone owner's mouth and asked him to speak for him their current location that he couldn't even reproduce the pronunciation.

He finished the phone call and gave back the phone to the vendor, who did not say a word about his incredibly miserable outward condition, _probably just being polite_, he mused. Grateful to know that Happy would be here in minutes, he still felt hopeless and lost. He wiped some dried blood from the corner of his nose with his left hand, the other hand pressed on his left ribs which were now probably broken. He was about to limped away from the crowd when a hand fell on his shoulder; he jumped a little.

"Hey man, oh so sorry to have startled you. You alright?"

Peter turned over to the voice, and his eyes were greeted with a man in casual shirts. _He does not look like a threat_, he thought, _if he's from here_.

"Hey, would you like to get inside and sit for a while? Maybe get cleaned up a bit?" the man asked again, that was when Peter realized he hadn't replied to his previous question.

"Um, inside?" that was all Peter could manage at the moment.

"I own a coffee shop, there," as if to clarify the safety of the situation, the man quickly gestured toward their left. "I won't charge you, no worries. I just feel like…these might need to be taken of."

At this point Peter almost felt like crying for the goodness in humanity. He hoped his eyes expressed his sincere appreciation. "Thank you, really. Um, I actually have to go—"

"Alright, no worries," the man put both his hands in the air as if to demonstrate he meant no harm or pressure. He then reached into his pocked. "Take these, at least," he handed him over a dry towel, and a small paper bag. "I get it you might need some privacy. Go get washed up, and here's a piece of brownie, on the house." the man winked at the end of the sentence, and walked away to joined the rest people presented at the market.

Peter was still shocked and somewhat amazed at what just happened in the past few minutes. He examined the dried towel, sniffed it slightly to see whether it was dipped with some drug trying to knock him off, (he later on realized sniffing would not have helped detected any substance anyways) and opened the bag to take a peak—it really was a piece of brownie— he was expecting some potential explosives. He sighed as all these examinations were done, disappointed at himself for expecting the worst out of people, and proceeded to walk over the the meeting point with Happy. He did not feel like eating, nor cleaning up; he was tired, desperate, and most importantly he had no clue how to fix the mess that he had caused. About 5 minutes later after he entered into the tulip field, all the physical senses came back to him: he was not just light-headed but dizzy now, whether it was because of food and rest deprivation of blood loss, he did not know; everywhere hurt as well, at this point he was certain that his injured leg was probably the easiest thing to deal with, for he sensed that some ribs were definitely broken and he was probably bleeding somewhere internally. He took out the brownie from the paper bag, although the smelled made his stomach churn. He pinched his mouth and dry-swallowed the dessert in three big bites, afraid to get nauseated by unwanted food but at the same time desperate to raise his blood sugar to keep him going. As he was about to take in the last bite, the deafening sound of a propeller interrupted him and he tossed the bag into his suit pocket, eyes meeting with the white vehicle now approaching to him.

Happy came out from the jet with an immediate display of concern on his face. "Peter? Are you alright?" he shouted from afar.

For the second time in the same hour Peter nearly cried; he wanted to just lie down on the spot and let Happy take care of the rest, but not now, not this time, he was tricked enough of times so he painfully composed himself.

"Wait, stop!" he shouted back, raising one arm in a defending position, and Happy, obviously caught up in surprise, was confused but complied and stopped on the stop.

"Tell me something only you know."

Happy wasted no time asking him why. "Something only I would know… uh uh, okay, remember the time when we went to Germany?" Happy quickly picked it up as he quickly ran through all the possibilities in his head. "And we were at the hotel. You paid for the TV program to watch a film, and although it was untitled, judging from the price charged I could tell it was an adult film. You wanna know how I—"

"Okay okay I know it's you!." Peter stopped him right there and began to walk toward Happy. On other occasion Peter would have stopped him from talking because of embarrassment, but now he honestly felt so good that someone knew what he had done, such tiny trifle, as idiotic and embarrassing as it sounded.

He threw his arms over Happy for a hug; he never really felt like hugging this man, but right now it was the best possible comfort. He also transferred part of his weight on Happy's body so as to lift the burden from his injuries a bit. "Oh man, so happy to see you."

Peter was sitting back faced to Happy as he did the stitches. He was dressed in dark grey, arms resting on his cheek while immense pain took place on his back. Several times he greeted his teeth, breathed through the pain, and finally he couldn't take it and groaned out.

"I thought you had spider powers," commented Happy, eyes till fix on his work, hands remained stable and swift.

"I know but it still hurts." now Peter shut his eyes close. It was the pain, and now some dancing spots appeared before his eyes. He began to feel funny, if feeling funny was possible when one was hurt so miserably. I_t makes sense_, he thought to himself, _I'm safe now, and I'm letting go._ He opened his eyes once more when the needle touched his back once more, but now the whole room was spinning.

"Make it quick, Happy," he breathed, _make it quick not because it hurts but because I think I'm not going to remain upright anymore._

"Stay still,"

"Trying," he really was trying. Right now what the dancing spots appeared before his eyes were not only those that one saw before passing out, but actually _dancing_; the room was spinning even more at the same time, and he felt like throwing up. His body tilted a bit, and both screamed up a little, one by the consequent pain and the other misplacement of sticking.

"Peter, stop— Peter," Happy quickly removed the needle and laid it on the desk aside. "Peter," he spoke out once more and reached out a hand on his uninjured shoulder; Peter swayed aside even further.

"My head." Peter managed, and looked up to Happy. It was so weird, he'd never experienced anything like this before. Happy's face was slightly twisted, and the colors seemed too bright; bright not in a sense of hurting the eyes but vibrant.

"Did you hit your— Pete," Happy sank down with Peter as he fell off from the seat; the teenager's eyes still in tact with the man, but unfocused. "Peter, are you going to pass out? Or something?"

"No?" Peter looked around and realized he had fell off from the chair; the room was still spinning, he still felt sick, but all the pains seemed to have subsided a little.

"Well then why did you end up here on the floor and swaying like this? Mind— Peter!" Happy could not have finished his sentence when Spider-man suddenly slumped against the floor, as if all the injuries and energy drain took its toll.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter woke up to water splashed on his face.

"What—" the words escaped before his eyes were open. He found himself lying on the floor, and Happy's concerned face blocked three quarters of his vision.

"Yo, kiddo, I had to wake you up," said Happy. "look me in the eyes and count from one to ten."

Peter dazed out. _Whoa, one to ten, what numbers! _He felt more relaxed and at ease now, although the nauseous feeling still lingered; his elbow pushed again the floor in attempt to help himself to a sitting position, and Happy's hand followed to support the movement. He was still trying to put up pieces when Happy's voice rang in his ears once more:

"You with me? Count from one to ten, can you hear me Peter?"

His eyes focused back on Happy's face. _Does he look…did he look like this when he picked him up at the field? _He felt his mouth open to utter the number one, but he did not quite recognize his own voice. He proceeded to five, and somehow got lost with the numbers.

"Geeze, did you hit your head or something? Said you got hit by a train— what you laughing at?" Happy's concern turned into suspicion, and it was until then Peter realize he was actually smiling.

"Uh…I'm not, my lips just…naturally tilted that way." he hoped this did not sound stupid, for at the moment he felt like this reason sounded legit enough.

"What— alright, you know what, get back up here, lemme finish the stitching before you pass out on me again."

When Happy helped Peter back on his feet and back to the seat, he felt like his whole body was melting, but not exactly in a way of drained due to his injury or energy drained: sure, he had lost a bit too much blood, he had not been resting, he was previously still both physically and mentally exhausted by his encounter, but he felt like marshmallow, and he felt like his wobbly knees were sugar cubes melting into a cup of tea. Happy caught him by the arm when he swayed on the chair again.

"Seriously Peter, what's wrong? I know you're quite badly injured this time, but you were never like this."

Peter felt like it took extra energy to focus on his understanding of what Happy was saying. "What? No I'm fine, serious, in fact, it does not even hurt now, the stitches and the wounds…I think I've healed?"

Happy simply lowered his gaze down and scanned from his shoulders to the legs; Peter followed where he was looking at, and to his surprise, all the wounds still remained open and untreated, oozing pus. "Uh…okay I honestly don't know…I feel so good actually." he reassured to Happy, and this time he realized he was beaming more than he should.

Happy narrowed his eyes. He was a quick man.

"Were you drugged?"

This caught Peter's attention from the trance. "What? No!"

"If you are not swaying because of your psychical condition," Happy continued "it appears to me that you are high."

"I'm what?"

"High."

"Hi…" Peter greeted back in confusion, almost wanted to laugh out when Happy suddenly stood up from his crouching position.

"That's it, you are high. You _seem_ high, you _sound_ high—" Happy cursed under his breath. "God, Netherlands, why didn't I expect so…"

Peter was all confused. "What? Oh you mean _high_ high? No of course I'm not I didn't take anything—"

"Did someone give you something then?" Happy suddenly turned to him and threw the question.

_Did someone give him anything? _Peter pondered on that question. _Yeah, Dutch people are so nice. They gave me a piece of clothe to put on, they speak perfect English, they lend me their phones without second questioning, they provide me snacks and fabric to clean up._

Happy snapped a finger in front of his eyes. "Hello? Are you seriously zoning out again?"

Peter nervously repeated all that he reflected back in his head, and Happy stopped him at the mention of the snack.

"What snack, did you eat it?"

"Uh yea—"

"Where is it? You finished it?"

Peter was now slightly anxious with Happy's attitude; his fumbled in his pocket with a trembling hand and grabbed the paper bag that contained the one last bite of the brownie that he was otherwise unable to finish earlier.

Happy took over the bag and opened it. "Hmm, brownie, typical," he then further sniffed into the bag; realization dawned on him. "Space cake."

_Space cake_? "No no Happy I'm quite sure they are from Earth."

Peter was sincere; Happy was not sure whether to laugh or to cry. He decided that at this point he should probably just be patient and gentle with an innocently high kid.

"Edibles, or so you may call it in the states. Ever heard of it? Basically it's weed," Happy took a seat beside Peter and began to explain. "I guess it's from some coffee shop or something, you probably didn't know so I don't blame you, but it takes a while till it coms down."

Peter vaguely felt the temperature around his nose and eyes begin elevating; he did not know why he suddenly felt this vulnerable and felt like crying. "Yeah, he said he own a coffee shop and asked if I wanted to go in and clean up my wounds, I didn't know—"

"It's okay, yeah, and I guess you just passed out cuz you had too much. Not sure if you've tried any before, I mean teenagers nowadays… but edibles hit people hard, especially to have almost downed the whole thing…"

Peter was going to defend for himself that he had not touch anything before, but suddenly the urge to cry was irresistible. He let a whimper escaped and one second later it turned into loud wailing.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" Happy soothed, "anywhere hurts or anything?"

The teenager shook his head. "I miss Tony."

_That was unexpected_, Happy looked down, _but reasonable._ Weed sometimes made people mentally vulnerable and would open up to whatever feelings as well._ Plus, for God's sake_, he reminded himself once more, _this is a high school kid I'm dealing with_. The only reply available to him now was: "Me too, man, me too."

He allowed Peter to cry for a while until he proceeded, "He was my best friend. And he was a mess, second-guessing himself on everything; but one thing he did not hesitate, Pete," Happy looked up to Peter once again, "was choosing you."

This was supposed to be comforting and heartwarming, but all Peter could manage to think now was how much more pressure it meant when Tony had chosen him yet he had messed it up so bad.

"Alright," Happy sighed, which was accompanied by a dry laugh. "I guess we can only rely on your fast metabolism and your Spidey whatever skill to let it pass… you feel anymore sober now kid?"

Peter did not even know how drunk or, _well, high,_ could a person be, but he did feel that he was more of himself now; the room was no longer spinning, there was no funny shapes nor vibrant color, and in fact he once again began to feel even just slight pain on his injured parts. He numbly nodded.

"Great, we'll take that as an advantage to _finally_ finish the stitching okay? And stay still this time."

Peter patted his on cheeks and shook his head to clear his mind a bit. Though mind still hazy, he rehearsed in his head over what he was dealing with and what coming danger out there was still awaiting. He glimpsed over the surrounding of the jet and realized he did not even have his suit.

"Happy I need my— WHAT are you doing?"

The remain of the trip on the vehicle included Peter catching Happy stuffed in the one last bite of the brownie and told him, "You go on with the suits, I'll take care of the music." And Peter swore that he had never ever before seen Happy swing with the music so cheerfully.


End file.
